


breathless

by guesso



Series: Gravity Falls drabbles and snippets [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, college days, demi Ford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27937867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guesso/pseuds/guesso
Summary: a rainy day, for revelations, for coffee-runs. pre-relationship.
Relationships: Fiddleford H. McGucket/Ford Pines
Series: Gravity Falls drabbles and snippets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045817
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7





	breathless

_I_ _s this what you meant, Stanley?_

There wasn't anything special about the day. Lecture, lab, notes, studying. They had both woken up late. Overcast, leftovers. Barely a handful of words had been shared between the two of them. 

Sitting at their respective desks, small lamps on, they had been tucked away in books for some time. Hours, if the waning light was any accurate indicator. Eyes burning, backs aching, they reluctantly agreed to take a break. _Coffee?_ Stanford nodded, exhausted, leaning back. Fiddleford left as Ford rubbed stars into his closed eyes.

He slid a musty record out of its sleeve; some wordless crooning, free-form melody. Slow notes lulled and relaxed his muscles, his head, the room. He turned off their lamps and pulled his chair to the window. It had started to rain, uncertain and sprinkling.

Students were going between buildings, rushing down sidewalks. He passively observed them, idle wondering would take too much energy. Lost in a haze of half-formed thoughts, he dozed against the window.

The sound of the door unlocking was cloudy and distant. A gentle hand on his shoulder made him pull himself upright with a sigh. Fiddleford handed him his glasses ( _when did I take them off?_ ) with a small chuckle. Once his vision righted itself, he was handed a soft, foamy cup. Fiddleford pulled his own chair over to the window and sat down, matching cup steaming in his hand. _He went down to the coffee shop a block or so off campus_. The washed out, grey light of the clouds made a canvas of his friend.

_When you would sit on the pier, just looking at the water, is that what you saw? How you’d light up as she spun with you, breathless, is that what caused it?_

The drink was rich, but soothing. Normally he drank his coffee black, but this concoction somehow kept the bite and brought out other flavors. It was quite a treat, especially considering the trouble Fiddleford had went through. “Thank you,” with a small hum.

His hair still had pearls of water clinging in it. “You’re welcome,” soft, tired, warm eyes. They were whispering something he knew, something he couldn’t quite make out. Still on him, corners crinkled, a near silent knowing.

Plucking of bass strings put feeling to it, vibrating in him. The trickling of piano, the rain. Small smiles speaking volumes, unclear contents, but he agreed, full-heartedly. The rise of the music, the fall of his chest, the contented sigh.

They sipped and looked and saw in that rain-light. They saw.


End file.
